Waves of Shadow
by The Goddess Aurora
Summary: A collection of drabbles or oneshots, heavily influenced by music. Different Pov's, no continual storyline.
1. The Young Man's Heart

_Disclaimer: The story is mine but Dean, Sam, and anything else you're familiar with cannot be credited to me. _

_The Young Man's Heart_

Dean has only ever truly loved two females.

One used to sing him to sleep each night, a soft hand stroking the soft hair at his temple until his eyes finally drifted closed. She made him breakfast each morning and slipped him cookies between meals. He always knew she loved him—it was written in her smile and it glowed in her eyes—and his father had loved her first.

She was stolen from all three of them in the middle of the night; taking every piece of the home he had with her.

The second had been given to him. His father had loved her first too, but when he handed her over, she was his. She became a physical symbol of his personality, another line in the definition of 'Dean Winchester.' She had never failed him, and in return he gave her his devotion.

She'd almost been taken away by the same thing that had stolen his mother. Seeing her body twisted, turning the once beautiful symmetry concave. He'd slaved to return her to her former glory, even when Bobby shook his head and his eyes screamed that it was a waste of time.

Dean has only ever loved two females, but he's pretty sure that he's well on the way to his third. The heavy feeling in his chest and the lightness in his head aren't the sensations he'd use to describe love because he's never felt them before.

With his mother, love had felt like the brightest sunshine—warm against his skin and making the world glow. And his love for the Impala was the smell of home—not the clichéd scent of fresh-baked cookies—the smell of something familiar, a combination of leather and small cardboard air-fresheners.

Dean had learned the difference between the types of love.

He hadn't loved Cassie, he'd loved the idea of her. She'd been his dream girl, his misguided attempt at being normal; he'd thought that maybe they could have a future. He'd been wrong and he'd been hurt. Turned out she hadn't been in love with him, he'd been her bad boy—her James Dean—but he hadn't been her forever. The truth had been too much for both of them.

His heart doesn't feel heavy, really. He's just more aware of it's presence because the ache that had been a part of him for so long is absent. It pulses steadily beneath his ribs and Dean wonders how many scars it bears, and how much longer he could have survived with the pain before he slowly fell apart. He truly hopes that he never has to find out.

Inspired by "45" by Shinedown, if you haven't listened to it, do so immediately.

A/N: Love to my Beta (you're right, I sent it on purpose XD). Just a drabble, not much else. Oh, the third person can be anyone, but it would make sense to assume that it's Angie. Make of it what you will.


	2. Nothing Left to Fear

_Disclaimer: The story is mine but Dean, Sam, and anything else you're familiar with cannot be credited to me. _

_Nothing Left to Fear_

Sam thinks it just a sense of duty. That we play the part of being good soldiers, fighting what's evil, just because it's the family business.

It's much more than that.

We don't have a traditional home—big house accented with a chain link fence and a perfect lawn. We have a black Chevy with leather seats, an arsenal, and the familiar voices of Sammy Hagar, Bob Segar, and James Hetfield.

Our home isn't a place, we live in an idea.

It's hard, but nothing worthwhile is ever easy. It's tiring, but it's worth it.

We save people, we kill things, and then we move on.

Sam may wonder why we do it, what our purpose is. He isn't a Hunter and he doesn't understand. He can hunt, but like my grandpa said, "there's a difference between a job and a calling."

For Dean and I, this is our career. Some kids want to be Superman, firefighters, and doctors; they dream about being heroes.

Dean doesn't lead this life simply because it's the only one he has ever known. He _chooses_ this life because the alternative isn't an option.

Neither of us could do what Sam has done. Settling down in one place and living the normal life just isn't possible for us.

The knowledge would torment us, haunt us.

Once you know something, you cannot un-know it; and we know what's out there.

We are not a part of society. It's a mold that we've both outgrown.

We are rogues, wanderers, nomads; but there's no such thing as a lone wolf. No one _wants_ to be alone.

We have a home, we have friends, and we have each other.

That's more than we need.

Kind of Inspired by "Duck and Run" 3 doors down


	3. Pants on Fire

_Disclaimer: The story is mine but Dean, Sam, and anything else you're familiar with cannot be credited to me. _

_Pants on Fire_

It pisses me off when people call him a liar. Not because it's untrue, they aren't exactly slandering his good name, but it's the way they say it.

He could charm the pants off an Eskimo and they'd be standing there knee deep in snow waving as he walked away and thinking he was the best thing since satellite television.

He's whatever the people want him to be. He's funny, charming, quirky, bold, _bad_—pieces of himself, never whole.

He has to lie, has to hide what's real, because the truth is too much for them; too much for him. I can see it perched on his shoulders like one of those rainbow parrots in the Captain Morgan commercials; I wonder how he can still breathe, or even move for that matter, beneath the weight.

People like simplicity, black and white, they don't have room in their world for the shades of grey in his eyes. It's those tiny flecks of silver in his irises that worry me the most—they're growing bigger.

If everyone could see the pain, the ache, so clearly mapped on his young face the skies of their perfect imaginary worlds would come crashing down on their heads. It's that intense. It's that dangerous.

Pretending gives him temporary freedom, takes him away from his reality so that he can find the strength to fight another day.

He is a liar.

He can't be anything else.

-

Sam POV of Dean, inspired by the episode "Bugs."

As always, massive amounts of love to my beta **feralpixc**, I owe her many a chocolate covered Jensen with cherries on top; and she'll get them too, once I figure out how to clone a man that hot without falling into a hormone-induced coma.

Reviews are loved almost as much as a topless Dean—they definitely come in a close second.


	4. Where the Blacktop Ends

_Disclaimer: The story is mine but Dean, Sam, and anything else you're familiar with cannot be credited to me. _

_Where the Blacktop Ends_

When they'd first met, he mistook her for an angel—knee deep in an emerald sea of grass picking blackberries. Her hair was gleaming in the sunlight, surrounding a face that would have made Aphrodite herself jealous. She was barefoot, her figure back-dropped by an endless cyan sky dotted with an occasional fat cloud.

From that first meeting on, the image of her was painted on his heart; stokes of soft gold hair, dabs of rich violet berries, and the brilliant splash of red dirt.

The eighteenth summer of his life marked the transition of a boy to a man, of belief to faith, of affection to love.

For years he heard the echo of her father's voice in his dreams, disapproval spurred by a gruff endearing love for his daughter. The old man was positive that the boy wasn't good enough for his daughter, deep down the boy knew he was right.

That didn't stop him from sneaking her out late at night, driving down the dusty roads with the headlights off, the silver face of the moon smiling down.

Sometimes she would play 'Connect the Dots' with the stars spread across the Kansas sky or she'd twirl around in the grass as lightning bugs danced in the heavy air around her; but always before he took her home she'd curl up in his arms and they'd lay on the hood of his car while the crickets serenaded them.

There sitting on the hood of his Pontiac they talked. Her lilting voice covered every topic. She'd lean into him and pour out her heart. When she was talking about the past, she'd smile fondly; the present, her hands would flutter about like humming birds; the future, she would grasp the hands resting on her stomach and press deeper into his chest. Mostly he just let her talk, listening to the sweet sound of her voice, letting it settle around him like an old blanket—soothing in its familiarity.

She was only speechless once that summer.

He'd brought her to their usual place. The air was cooler, the seasons were beginning to change, so she'd donned his worn jacket. September was on the horizon.

Her eyes sparkled with tears. The stars seemed dimmer that night and the crickets were silent. He was going away, and even though he promised to return, she wouldn't speak.

When he went out into the world he kept her with him. He thrived on the memory of her smile, he basked in the warmth of her arms, and he dreamed of nothing but his angel.

Kansas welcomed him home years later, even though he returned a different man than the one who had left.

She wasn't waiting.

It took more patience than he'd possessed to get her back again, but if the Marines had taught him anything it was that hard work and determination were key to overcoming any obstacle. She was stubborn, but he was the definition of pigheaded.

They were married that summer and everyday he woke her up with a smile, whispering in her ear that she was his angel; until finally, she became one.

-

Mary/John: inspired by the song "Red Dirt Road" by Brooks and Dunne, amazing song—totally fits this couple. Not really a country fan but I will make an exception for those two, amazing, really. My first try with this couple, but I just love their dynamic and the possibilities of pre-YED John is enough to make me hide from the bunnies.

Buckets of love to be poured on my Beta, Feralpixc, she's amazing. glomps poor defenseless beta

Reviews will earn you a Golden Ticket to my heart! (Jensen and Jared are in there, if that isn't motivation enough I dun know what is!)


	5. The Metal Winchester

_Disclaimer: The story is mine but Dean, Sam, and anything else you're familiar with cannot be credited to me. _

_The Metal Winchester_

His hands are shaking as they clutch the wheel. Dad was going to kill him when he found out.

His feet barely reach the pedals and his nose is level with the dashboard; if it weren't for his stone cold sense of purpose he'd be a mass of jittery nerves.

He reminds himself that dad can't kill him if he bleeds to death in the back seat.

The engine purrs in his young ears as he drives for the very first time. It's almost like she's trying to soothe him with her song.

He's so freaking glad that Sam is holed up in the motel room rather than in the passenger seat.

He'd always considered the Impala to be his family's version of a house, but at the very moment that Dean pulls the car out onto the deserted highway and guns it to the nearest hospital he knows she's so much more than that.

She's a member of the family.

Ah, totally unbeta'd, so worried. looks for pixc Oh, where, Oh, where has my pixc gone?

I figure this is my version of Dean's first time behind the Impala's wheel, it just came to me a few days ago and bit me. Mostly it's just a distraction because I've been obsessing over chapter 2 of Going Home, because I don't have someone to tell me whether or not it's crap—unless you count my 10 year old cousin, but she thinks the PG version of Swell is good, her standards are really low. nudges Pixc

R&R and I'll send you a free Jensen clone!

Offer of Jensen clone available only for FF members, shipping and handling is not included, author reserves the right to refuse clones to flamers and haters in general. Warning, Jensen clones won't be available until after the author manages to snag some of Jensen's DNA, which may take a while.


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